Black Night Falling (19 page)

I nodded to the telephone. ‘Make your calls. No games.’

He looked at me like a bear on a chain – resentful but scared. He picked it up and made to dial.

‘Make him come alone,’ I said.

‘He won’t come willingly. Someone’ll have to hold his leash.’

I moved so I was standing by the telephone, ready to act at the first sign of trouble. ‘Layfield better be the first face I see. Try to cross me and I’ll make sure you catch a bullet before I do.’

He held the receiver out in front of him, as if I’d interrupted the call. ‘You’ve made yourself clear, son. Leave it at that.’ He lifted it to his ear and finished dialling.

I rubbed my temple with my knuckle, scared I was letting things freewheel out of control.

A voice answered and Coughlin spoke. ‘It’s me. I need to see Harlan Layfield, where’s he at?’

He was silent as the voice answered him, then said, ‘He made another mistake today, and I’d sure like to have a talk with him about it.’ He frowned as the voice replied. He looked up at me, eyeing the gun. ‘Well, go get him and we’ll discuss it. Bring him by the house, I want him here within the hour.’ He set the receiver back in its cradle and stood up, planted his hands on the desktop. ‘It’s done. Now, how about you point that thing somewhere else?’

I couldn’t figure out how he’d set the trap, but he seemed satisfied with the call. Made me more certain than ever that I needed some measure of insurance. ‘Not yet. How long until your wife comes home? I don’t want her involved.’

He looked at the clock on the mantel opposite me. ‘A few hours yet. Time enough to get him here. You can take him where you want, after that. I don’t need to know no more.’

I gestured with the gun. ‘Outside. The car.’

A look of confusion twisted his face. ‘What for? You heard what I said – my man will have him here in—’

‘Go.’

He started walking. I followed him back out through the house and to the driveway. He stopped by the car, and I opened the trunk. ‘Inside.’

He glanced into the black space, incredulous. ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind? There’s no call for this horseshit.’

‘You messed up. You made that call to the fire chief an hour before the fire. You weren’t scrambling after the fact, you were laying the groundwork.’ I motioned with the gun. ‘Now, get in. I’ve got what I want, I don’t need you any more. I just hope for your sake it’s Layfield on his way here.’

‘You son of a bitch.’ He stood his ground.

I put the gun to his forehead, fretting what I’d do if he kept resisting. He took a tentative step, and it was all I needed. I bundled him the rest of the way and slammed the lid. I heard him shouting as I jogged to the driver’s door.

I drove back down the hill and turned north, aware I was on the clock. At first Coughlin kept up an intermittent beat on the inside of the trunk, his shouts too muffled to make out, but after a few minutes he quit and I was left with only the sound of the engine, darkness all around me.

I stopped three times by the side of the road and climbed out of the car, slamming the door each time to make sure Coughlin heard what I was doing. The third time, I walked a dozen paces along the verge, killing a few seconds to buttress the pretence I was stashing Layfield’s gun someplace. Then I picked my way back to the car, feeling the night close in on me as I thought about what was coming.

When I got back behind the wheel, I took Layfield’s gun from my pocket and closed it in the glove compartment. I checked my watch. It was twenty minutes since we’d left the house. Figure fifteen to get back there and another five to make the call. Tight.

Coming back up the long drive, Coughlin’s house was still dark – some reassurance. I stopped by the front door and jumped out, raced through the house back to the study and snatched up the phone. I tried Masters’ campaign office first, hoping the proximity to the election would have kept him there at that late hour. I got lucky, and he recognised it was me right away.

‘Yates? Where are you? They recovered Barrett’s body.’

‘What about Layfield?’

‘I’ve got men making enquiries, but without any evidence, it’s not a case of just waltzing up and arresting him. Come on in, make a full statement . . .’

I looked at my watch – almost eight. ‘Meet me at ten o’clock. Drive north out of town on Park until you come to a turnoff for Big Sarn Lane. I’ll be just past it, in a grey LaSalle. I’ve got Layfield’s gun; I’ll turn myself in to you personally, or not at all.’

‘That’s the smartest thing you’ve said yet. All right, ten.’ He drew a sharp breath. ‘Christ, I wish you’d left the gun at the scene – the evidence custody issues are going to kill me.’

‘Do you want it or don’t you? I’ll give you an eyewitness account—’

‘All right, all right, don’t say anything more until I can get you on the record. Ten o’clock.’

I set the phone down and ran back outside to the car. I drove it down the hill again, turned north out of Big Sarn Lane and parked a hundred yards along on the verge. In that spot, it wouldn’t be visible to anyone driving to Coughlin’s house from town. I climbed out, leaving the doors unlocked, and went to free Coughlin.

When I opened the trunk, he shot his hand out to stop me closing it again. ‘You stupid son of—’

‘Move.’ I took a step back and trained Barrett’s gun on him.

He climbed out and looked around. His suit was crumpled and he’d paled. ‘Where are . . .’ He trailed off as he got his bearings.

‘Let’s go. Back to the house.’

‘What the hell are you doing? Running around in the night – you’re a madman.’

‘Go.’ I started pushing him back towards the house. I glanced back at the LaSalle as I walked, wondering if I’d been cautious enough. If I had the resolve to do the rest.

Coughlin was wheezing by the time we got to the top of the hill. The walk helped dissipate some of the nervous tension building in my guts. We crossed the driveway in convoy, me levelling the gun on his back the whole way.

He headed for the front door, but I pointed him away from it. The grounds immediately around the house were dense with dogwood and holly bushes, and I walked us into the thicket to the left of the house to wait out of sight. I made Coughlin sit down, then crouched behind him so I could watch the road in.

‘What the hell is the meaning of this?’

‘Quiet.’

The glow from the porch lights didn’t reach us, so we waited in near darkness. The night air was cool and the wind had picked up enough to play tricks with my ears, but still I felt sweat collecting where my hat met my head. The anger had ebbed, draining away my grit with it, and now the fear was taking its place again. With it came doubt – a temptation to run that got more potent the longer we waited.

‘You’re making a mistake,’ he said.

‘Shut your mouth.’

I saw the headlight beams first, the wind blowing in the right direction to mask the sound of the car until it was almost in view. A dark-coloured Pontiac cruised up the turnaround and stopped by the front door, the driver’s face catching in the porch lights – Layfield. I could make out the shape of another man behind him.

Layfield stepped out slow and cautious. Seeing him sent a rush of nervous energy coursing through me. He didn’t have the bearing of a man who’d been dragged there against his will. He opened the rear door for his passenger, and a man stepped out. I recognised the suit even before I saw the face; cream-coloured and cut baggy enough to conceal a piece. William Tindall.

Panic welled inside of me. The waters kept getting blacker and deeper. Tindall was supposed to be retired. He was being chauffeured by the man who’d tried to kill me. I was prepared for a double-cross by Coughlin, but not for this.

Tindall folded his arms and leaned against the car as Layfield went for the doorbell. Three bullets in the gun – enough to put each of them down. The ghosts of all the dead implored me to do it. The voice of my own fear said the same – end it now and run. Truth was, I didn’t have the steel. I bent low and hissed in Coughlin’s ear, ‘What the hell is he doing here?’

But he didn’t answer me, instead calling out to them, ‘Hold your fire, he’s got me in the damn bushes with him. He’s armed.’

Both men startled, reaching for their guns at the same time.

I whispered again. ‘You’re a dead man.’

He looked up at me. ‘Go to hell.’

I jammed the gun to his neck.

Layfield had pressed himself into the doorway and Tindall was backing away, putting the car between us as cover. He searched the darkness of the grounds, trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. ‘That you in there, Mr Yates? Why don’t you show your face, eh?’

‘Put your guns down.’

‘Not a chance. I don’t much fancy going the way of old Winfield Callaway.’

The name was unexpected; hearing it from his mouth was like a punch to the back of the head. Black waters turning to blood.

He glanced around again, searching. ‘Look, there’s plenty you don’t know, so stop hiding in them bushes and come out here like a man.’

‘That cuts both ways.’ I closed my eyes and took a breath. ‘I stashed Layfield’s gun, and the only man knows where it is apart from me is Samuel Masters. He’s on his way to collect it in the next sixty minutes. Unless I’m alive to move it.’

I saw Layfield shoot a look at Tindall. Tindall’s face didn’t change.

‘Bloody Masters,’ Tindall said. ‘All those poor bastards the Nips killed, and him not among them. That’s the crime of it.’

He stepped out from behind the car and started walking slowly towards where the sound of my voice was coming from, favouring one leg. I signalled for Coughlin to stand up, ready to retreat further into the dark. Tindall stopped when he reached the edge of the driveway and lit a cigarette. ‘I heard about your domestic troubles, Yates. A break-in, wasn’t it?’

That stopped me cold.

‘Take much, did they?’

It was impossible. Los Angeles was fifteen hundred miles away. There was no way he could— ‘What the hell do you know about it?’

He took a drag from his cigarette. ‘Should have taken the hint, shouldn’t you? All them broken windows. Then we wouldn’t have this trouble here.’

I fumbled the gun. Coughlin saw it hit the dirt and tried to swoop down to grab it, but I was faster. I stabbed the barrel into his back, panting silently, gripping his collar tighter with my other hand.

Tindall kept on. ‘Problem with men like that, there’s nothing to stop them coming again. Your wife – it’s Lizzie, isn’t it? Is she at home? I don’t like involving womenfolk, but—’

I locked my arm around Coughlin’s throat and dragged him into the open. ‘
IF YOU TOUCH HER I’LL KILL YOU
.’

‘Calm down, champ.’ Tindall patted the air with his hand. ‘Consider what’s important here.’ Layfield came over to stand behind him now that I was in view.

My arm shook holding the gun, my eyes locked on Layfield’s.
Pull the damn trigger.
‘Alice Anderson. You killed her. That’s where this started.’

Layfield stared at me and Tindall held up his hand as if signalling him to stay quiet. ‘That bit about Masters and the gun, is it true?’

‘Yes.’ Gritted teeth strangled the word. ‘Jimmy Robinson. Jeannie Runnels. Bess—’

‘All right, that’ll do.’

Coughlin gagged, clawing at my arm.

Tindall wrinkled his face in thought, one eye narrowing. ‘Christ, this is a mess, Harlan.’

‘It’s nothing can’t be fixed,’ Layfield said. ‘The gun’s not as important as how I tell the story. Barrett drew on me first—’

Tindall held his hand up again to silence him. ‘What is it you want, Yates?’

I swallowed, a lump in my throat that felt like it could choke me. ‘I want to know why you killed all those people. And I want it to stop.’

Tindall took a breath. ‘It has stopped. I’ve dealt with it, you have my word on that.’ He half-turned towards Layfield, eyes still on me. Layfield looked away, like a scolded dog. ‘But the milk’s been spilt, there’s nothing can be done about that.’

‘Why? Goddamn you, why did they have to die?’

Coughlin struggled against me, forcing some words. ‘He’s . . . a liability.’ It was directed at Layfield. He glared back at Coughlin, and even through my rage, I sensed the rift.

Tindall closed his eyes. ‘Listen, let Teddy go and take us to where the gun is and I promise you your old lady will go untroubled. On my honour.’

I kept looking at Layfield. ‘You son of a bitch, tell me why.’

He dropped his eyes to the floor, almost as though he was ashamed.

Coughlin strained again and I loosened my grip a fraction to let him speak. ‘He’s a goddamn animal, that’s why.’ He said it to Layfield.

‘Be quiet, Teddy,’ Tindall said.

‘Do something then, goddammit.’

‘Mind who you’re speaking to, now.’ Tindall stared at Coughlin as he said it.

It felt like the air was electrified and sparking. Tindall looked about to say something to me now, but I kept my eyes on Layfield and spoke first. ‘He offered me a deal to kill you, Layfield. You know that?’

Both men shot Coughlin a look.

‘He had a gun on me,’ Coughlin said. ‘It was a ruse—’

‘That’s your story now, but how was I to know that?’ I said. ‘You were all set to send me off thinking I had your blessing to kill him. What if I’d gone ahead?’

‘It would never have come to— I was trying to get rid of him, goddammit.’

‘Maybe. But maybe you figured it wouldn’t be so bad if I got to Layfield first. A little bit of payback for Cole Barrett.’

Coughlin bucked. ‘That’s not—’

‘You killed his bagman,’ I said to Layfield. ‘You didn’t expect repercussions?’

Layfield stepped towards us. ‘Son of a bitch.’

Tindall put his hand on his shoulder to restrain him. ‘Harlan—’

I loosened my grip a little more. ‘What was it you said, Teddy? “
He’s about run out the string
.” You had me convinced.’

Layfield kept coming. He spoke over his shoulder to Tindall. ‘What did I tell you? This goddamn—’

‘HARLAN.’ Tindall jerked him back.

‘Face it, he was willing to sacrifice you to save himself,’ I said. ‘He wanted it to go down that way, even. How’s that feel?’

Tindall: ‘Ignore him, he’s—’

Layfield raised his gun.

I threw myself to the floor as he fired, rolling backwards. Tindall made a grab for the weapon and I scrambled into the undergrowth and flattened myself to the dirt. I glanced back, saw Coughlin was down, holding his arm. Layfield was running, tearing across the driveway towards the road out. Tindall sighted him with his gun, following his path as though he was tracking a deer. Then he sagged and lowered his arm.

He turned around and scanned the bushes. He looked in my direction, right in my eyes. I bolted into the trees, thinking only of Lizzie.